


When I am Dead, I'll Join Their Ranks

by MelodyoftheVoid



Series: Fading Reflections [3]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bird Shenanigans, Dark Magic, Gen, M/M, Please note this is his first power trip, Zib gets a bad idea, baby's first power trip, that boy needs therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyoftheVoid/pseuds/MelodyoftheVoid
Summary: History is written by the victors, so he'll steal the pen.
Relationships: Dib & Zib, Dib/Zim (Invader Zim), mentioned
Series: Fading Reflections [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817320
Comments: 38
Kudos: 183





	When I am Dead, I'll Join Their Ranks

Zib’s heels clicked in the empty corridor, a sharp staccato against the tile. The servants bustling in preparation for the upcoming birthday celebration. Their 21st birthday. 

Joy. 

He wanted to feel excited for the upcoming event honestly. He loved the lavish celebrations that his father threw, the pomp and circumstance, the complex politics between the quarreling nobility, the glamour of it all. Zib loved nothing more than to waltz, that steady ¾ tempo a reliable partner. But he dreaded what this year meant for him. Dib would finally be old enough to take the throne.

Logically Zib knew his twin wouldn’t; not for some time at least, but it would come eventually. Their father wouldn’t live forever, and even barring that the man wanted his eldest to replace him. He made that obvious just about every time the royal family gathered for dinner. Snide comments about kingly duties and future responsibilities coming soon a constant infuriating reminder of what he’d never be.

The sound of his footsteps cut abruptly, now only a muffled noise. He’d made his way into the parlor, hadn’t he? Just what he needed. Amber eyes roved over the portraits of his ancestors, remembering the lessons the Madame Bitters drilled into the siblings about their many successes and failures. One lesson in particular never left him though.

If you aren’t sovereign, you don’t matter.

Dib adamantly argued against the tutor at the time, huffily declaring that his siblings were just as cool and could rule with him. Just because he was older didn’t mean he’d abandon them. But Dib was 10 and naïve. Only a few years later the king begin giving him separate lessons. Dib never talked about ruling together after that. He barely talked to them at all.

Gaz retreated into the arena of sword fighting, honing her skills at all hours of the day. Even carrying her trusted weapon with her to dinner and to bed, the faint sound of clanging audible even in the late hours of the night.

So Zib was left to his own devices. Not important enough for special treatment, nor exceptional enough to warrant any attention. Just the spare. Occasionally mistaken for someone more relevant.

Zib let out a small sigh. He really shouldn’t have come in here. It brought back those toxic feelings, the bitter tang of jealousy and resentment rising in the back of his throat. Yet somehow this room drew him in, like a moth to the exposed flame. It didn’t help that today he already felt burned.

The faint sound of distant chatter caught his attention. He looked out of the large elaborate windows, out onto the lavish gardens his mother once adored. At least the king kept that memory of hers alive. A familiar trio was the cause of the noise, the happy betrothed animatedly arguing about something, Gaz on one of her rare breaks following alongside. Zib’s lip curled in a sneer at the sight.

It seemed all his family, both past and present, was determined to remind him of his status today.

Turning on his heel, Zib retreated to his study. At least in there he could distract himself with his work. Work his father would never acknowledge but what else was new. He could satisfy himself with the knowledge he accrued. The sanctuary he’d created.

Walking in gave him an immediate sense of calm. The room was all his design, it’d been abandoned years ago for unknown reasons, allowing him to create his oasis. The dark wood bookshelves were lined with his favorite books, both fictional and non, as well as a varied collection of mystical artifacts. He’d scoured the seedier parts of the market, coming back with amulets, crystals, pieces and parts from a myriad of mystical creatures.

He made sure to verify their authenticity.

Assorted chairs he’d borrowed ~~read stole~~ from other parts of the castle sat in various places. Simple candles lit the space at night, casting a warm glow across the ancient tomes. He’d practiced a simple flame enchantment to prevent the wind from blowing them out. It seemed he had an affinity for fire.

But the room also contained a desk, one he’d fallen asleep on more often than he’d care to admit, the bird sitting on it-

Wait the bird?

Sure enough, a small crow sat on his desk. Hopping about, pecking at his papers and quills. Zib looked it in its beady little eyes, and the thing took off.

The stupid bird flew in circles around the study, perching in the corners before taking off again, cawing and squawking as it tried to escape. Zib felt his entire frame shake with rage, the mounting frustrations of the upcoming party compounded by this stupid pest disrupting the one sanctuary he had. His solitary reprieve from everything and he couldn’t. Even. Have. _That._ Without _something_ ruining it. Forget the throne, forget his brother all he wanted right now was for that bird to

**_STOP. MOVING._**

****

Zib jumped at the dull thud of stone on carpet, had a brick fallen from the ceiling? This room was rather old, so it wasn’t necessarily out of the question. But it hadn’t been that. Nerves thoroughly shot, he barely noticed the wisps of grey coming from his fingertips, nor the thrum of energy audible behind his ears. No, he stared in horror at the bird on the floor, entirely transformed into stone.

He stood frozen for what felt like ages. Did he do that? Had he… With his own magic? To a living being?

Delight curled in his stomach, previous disgust a distant memory. A wide grin stretched across his face. Zib dashed to his desk, pulling out his notes. A worn journal, fit to bursting with loose pieces of paper and paraphernalia from his handful of trips to Irk, contained his years and years of research into the secrets of magic that Zim’s kingdom held so close to its chest. He looked away from the early pages, where two distinct handwritings argued and quibbled over theories, instead turning to his more recent entries. He dipped his quill in the ink, hands trembling with excitement.

The sources from Irk stated that magic was simply an expression of the soul, that its users could affect those around them with it, but only secondarily. Like Red and Purple’s summoned plasma, so hot he could feel it from his hiding spot all those years ago, or Miyuki’s ice, allegedly capable of transforming rain into snow. No, he’d done _more_. He’d just exerted his will over reality! Rewriting it entirely!

Possibilities and applications swirled in his mind, each more outlandish than the last. Snapping briefly out of his reverie, Zib turned back to the bird. He couldn’t just leave the thing like this. Well he could. But the question was whether or not he could reverse his actions.

He steadied his breath, trying to bring back that feeling of pure energy flowing through his veins. There’d been purpose behind that spell, a will. He wanted this ability, this _power_ to change his fate. To put him in the history books as more than just a disposable sibling. And by the gods, that bird would **_fly._**

The stone melted away, returning the pest to its original state. While the little bastard was still stunned, Zib grabbed it and pushed it out of the window, watching with wide eyes as it rose up, flying unsteadily off into the distance.

Zib wondered what else he could do, mind returning to his original source of anger. Dib was often prone to causing scenes, whether intentionally or not, he could have some fun at his twin’s expense. Making him say something dumb in front of Zim or causing him to dance uncontrollably. He’d read about a town with a dancing plague though, and he didn’t want to deal with any unintended spread of that magic. Maybe he could make his head larger temporarily?

But that wouldn’t really solve his problem. It would bring a welcome reprieve for certain, yet he knew that momentary satisfaction was just that. Momentary. Dib would still hold the title of heir, King Membrane’s attention only on his eldest, and Zib’s place in history still infinitesimal. A footnote. What if he… No. No, he couldn’t. Could he? If he used his powers to get what he wanted, he’d get away with it.

The king certainly didn’t believe in magic, a major sticking point for the Zib throughout the years finally coming to his advantage. Zim wholeheartedly thought only Irken royalty even possessed the ability, so he wasn't a problem. And Dib vanishing out of the blue wasn’t entirely out of character. The prince stole away on his personal sailboat when the water was clear so often the guards didn't even blink when he came back at wild hours smelling of salt and soaked to the bone. The citizens desensitized to his sudden disappearances to the point of placing bets on when/if he'd return. And shipwrecks happened more often than not...

Zib was known as the responsible one. The quiet sensible sibling, a pleasant presence in court and a dutiful student. Who ever looked at him when things went wrong? What would he do to his twin though? None of the curses he’d read about seemed apropos. All too gruesome or generic for his tastes. He wanted this to be personal. A specialized revenge. Zib allowed himself to ponder his twin. His mirror image.

That was it. Zib laughed out loud at the idea, delicious in its irony. He might just have fun at this party after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The stage is set, the pieces are in place. Zib makes the first move.
> 
> God getting into this bastard's headspace was a chore, I love his aesthetic but the man has the mental process of a spoiled brat. Hopefully the next fic is lighter- *checks wips* oh. Oh no.


End file.
